


Bitter

by merr



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Baggage, First Time, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless, Spoilers, WRITER'S BLOCK IS LIFTING?!, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merr/pseuds/merr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with that sideways comment from Lambert about how he thought Geralt <i>liked</i> bitchy people...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> *crawls out of the woodwork* Sheeeeeit it's good to be writing anything at all again, even if it is rusty little oneshots. 8D  
> In my searches, I have discovered a disturbing lack of Witcher fic...  
> As I make my way through the books and games, I doubt I'll be able to resist writing more about Geralt.  
> Seriously, my loins. UNF.  
> Anyway, hello and thanks for reading! <3

Geralt glanced sideways at Lambert as the younger Witcher guided the boat he'd built across the lake. Eyes narrowed a bit in a very small, wry smile as Geralt considered the image of the other man, shirtless in the sun on the shoreline, muscles in his shoulders and abdomen shifting as he dragged a rasp down planks he'd likely harvested himself from surrounding trees... _I'm sure the bomb comment was a load of misdirection, too._

| | |

At the mouth of the cave, Geralt's amusement and irritation both grew as Lambert continued to snipe at him. Finally, he decided to prod the other man back, muttering that he was pricklier than Yennefer; Lambert seemed to pause, only for a moment, but long enough for Geralt to watch an expression flit across his face before he snapped sourly that Geralt had better not fall in love with him too. _Second time you've brushed up against that topic..._ As Geralt was about to comment out loud, he was cut off by the distorted cry of a child.

| | |

A few minutes later, Geralt was deliberately trying to rebuild the calm that Lambert seemed to be expert at eroding when they accidentally woke Speartip. Afterward, as the two Witchers stood face to face, panting over the cyclops' corpse, Geralt felt the last of his anger evaporate at the moistness Cat revealed in Lambert's eyes. As the brunet spit on the beast and vocalized the memory of the young boy that'd not made it through the trial, Geralt turned away and headed toward the path out of the cave, deciding to hold off on his questions and leave Lambert with his pride for the time being.

| | |

Lambert shifting abruptly from bitching about Geralt not killing every monster he came upon to complimenting the view prompted an almost imperceptible eye roll from the silver-haired Witcher. Leaning against the carved stone, Geralt didn't bother to pull any punches about Lambert's mildly psychotic Axii treatment with bandits, but the resulting story about Lambert's childhood and how he came to Kaer Morhen rocked Geralt where he stood. He shifted on his feet, uncrossing his arms, broadcasting respectful sympathy with his apology. _This could get ugly,_ he prepared himself, knowing from past experience and training with the brunet that gentle treatment in moments of weakness often spurred an explosive response. This time, though, Lambert simply accepted the sentiment and then tried to divert the conversation back to the phylactery.

Geralt walked over to the box, a decision forming in his mind even as he gently lifted it and moved it aside so it wouldn't over-fill, if such a thing were possible. He then tugged his gloves off, one a time, and turned to Lambert in the heavily-fogged early evening.

"Lambert."

Yellow eyes sought Geralt's face, finding it in the darkness with little difficulty even though both of their Cat potions had worn off some time ago. "What is it? Need a longer rest, old man?"

Geralt didn't smile but didn't scowl either. Instead, he kept Lambert's gaze, stepping toward him as he rumbled, "How long has it been since you've told someone that story?"

Lambert's face twitched, mouth twisting as he unconsciously rubbed one gloved hand over the scars on his right temple. The last person he'd been close to, the last person he'd ever trusted enough to tell, had died decades ago under the ministrations of Speartip's knotted hands. He tipped his chin up, snapping, "He's a ghost now. What's it matter?"

The fact that the brunet hadn't bolted or punched him served to confirm Geralt's suspicions and he spoke quietly but firmly: "Desiring companionship now and then isn't a show of weakness."

The straining leather of Lambert's gloves as he abruptly tightened his fists was loud above the fire to the two Witchers; they both knew Geralt had hit the subject on the head. Geralt stepped closer, bare hand coming up behind the back of the shorter man's head and then stilling there, while the other glared, searching unsuccessfully for something biting to say. Finally, Lambert simply sneered and crashed their mouths together, eyes slipping shut under furrowed brows.

Geralt let the younger man be angry, rough; he felt a thrill of heat in his core when Lambert bit at his mouth, then licked at the burning flesh, clearly inviting Geralt to return the sentiment. Shaking his head a bit, Geralt broke the kiss and moved to sit on the stone ledge, pulling Lambert with him. With a little scraping of steel against marble and disjointed cursing, the men ended up sitting on the cobbles, Lambert straddling Geralt's lap.

"Already decided to make me play the lass?" the younger man hissed in Geralt's ear even as he tugged his own gloves off and threw them to the side so he could work at the straps on the older man's chestplate.

"I'm not _making_ you do anything," Geralt rumbled, deft hands busy at work on Lambert's clothes as well. As they undressed each other between rasping kisses and none-too-gentle nips, he wondered how many partners Lambert had laid with, male or female. _Or perhaps his technique is just like everything else about him -- the kind of bold and brash that can only spring from purposeful denial and bitter restraint._

Almost as though reading his mind, Lambert mouthed over the pitchfork scars on Geralt's stomach, wetting the fine trail of silver hair leading toward what he _really_ wanted to taste. Running his calloused hands over Lambert's cropped head a moment later, Geralt gave a pleased rumble at the dual stimulus of soft, short hair under his palm and wet, warm mouth over his prick; let his hands travel over knotted scars on the slender man's shoulders and back, slipping his hands under to squeeze his pectorals, brush firm thumbs over already hard nubs.

"Glad to know this is pleasing you equally," Geralt murmured, offering the veiled compliment while trying to tug Lambert up for more open-mouthed kissing. Instead, the other man doubled his efforts, gripping onto his hips, swallowing the older man down and sucking earnestly. Geralt growled, clenching his jaw as he manhandled Lambert off his body, the shock of the sudden intensity pleasing him almost too much. They wrestled until a laugh thick with desire and light with amusement burst out of Lambert when Geralt finally pinned him. The silver-haired man ground his hips down, eliciting another bitten-lipped moan from his partner as he reached between them and gripped Lambert's erection: "Can't enjoy anything without a fight, can you?"

Lambert tugged a fistful of silver, other hand following the scar on Geralt's face from his eyebrow to his chin as he panted, "No, I can't, but you don't seem to mind." He bucked his hips up, then wrapped his legs around Geralt's waist and used the anchor point to stretch an arm out and snag a nearby satchel. He dug blindly in it, vials clinking together, face contorted into the rough distant cousin of a pout. Geralt made it as difficult as possible for him to focus, rolling their hips together and latching a firm mouth on the younger man's neck. "Gods damn you Geralt; I'm trying to -- hng -- g-get -- fuck!"

Lambert jerked, clutching at the bag and spilling it half open. The taller man pulled back then, moving on his knees and easily plucking a vial of unenchanted oil up out of the bottom of the bag. He settled comfortably in a meditation stance, muscles and scars shifting on his body in the dim light: "Was that your version of a lover's request, Lambert?"

Geralt smirked as he watched Lambert try to find a way to curse him that didn't include the word 'fuck,' 'bugger' or 'plough.' His catlike pupils widened as he snatched the oil out of Geralt's hands and poured some into his own, unlacing his legs from the other man's waist and bringing his knees to his chest, abdominal muscles standing out as he reached down. Geralt watched like a hawk as Lambert used one hand to stroke himself while pressing into his body with first one finger, then adding a second quickly enough to elicit a sharp gasp.

 _Always a fight, even with yourself..._ Geralt picked the bottle up from where it had clicked onto the cobbles, doling a palmful out into his own hand, then carefully tugged away one of Lambert's wrists, "You can keep touching your prick, but leave this to me." Lambert shifted, the flush on his neck and chest deepening as he gave a curt nod. Geralt took his time, searching for and finding Lambert's prostate, took great amusement in how the slender man at his mercy started to sweat. Lambert writhed and let out the kind of noises that alerted the more experienced of the two to the fact that while Lambert may have laid with other men, they had never taken much time on him. _Wonder if it's because they were tactless whoresons, or because you wouldn't let them try to please you,_ Geralt thought but wisely didn't vocalize.

When Lambert finally began swearing in full sentences again, Geralt focused in, a grin splitting his handsome face as he asked, "Need a rest, old man?" Lambert shook his head, tried to twist and reach, clearly desperate to be filled but angry as hell that he suspected he was going to be forced to vocalize it. Geralt's voice was unrelenting, heavy as stone: "Speak, Lambert. Tell me."

Chest heaving, the brunet bit at his mouth and lips, bucked his hips into Geralt's, but finally, seeing that the older man had miles and miles of self control yet at his command, Lambert hissed out, "Get inside me, Geralt, you -- you --"

Swiftly and steadily, Geralt obliged the still-swearing man, his grin growing by degrees as the curses turned into incomprehensible noises of equal parts satisfaction and surprise. Lambert gripped at Geralt's upper arms, shoulders, thighs, anything he could reach as the sharp edge of pain scratched the rabid itch he carried in his soul at all times; the repeated brush of his prostate balanced the scales just as the silver-haired man shifted, picking up rhythm and murmuring, "More of that; don't strive for silence, I want to hear you."

In the end, their coupling didn't last as long as it might have, had they not had such an exhausting day both physically and emotionally, but neither of them felt cheated by the time Lambert came undone in Geralt's hands, the older man following not much further behind. At the mild 'even if it _is_ all muscle for ploughing, you're still a fat fuck,' Geralt withdrew and gave Lambert his body back, but held onto the younger man's torso, refusing to let him break body contact. The brunet settled into Geralt's side, mildly surprising the both of them with his pliability. Neither of them spoke.

After a few minutes of letting his slit-pupil eyes wander over the now-cleared night sky, however, Geralt rumbled quietly, "Lambert?"

A slightly-acidic huff, but no motion to leave where he was: "What is it now, Geralt?"

"Don't hesitate to seek me out next time you're feeling so bitter."

"Go fuck yourself," muttered the man at his side and Geralt could tell from the sound of his voice that Lambert's grin matched his own.


End file.
